


Fit for a King

by NamelesslyNightlock



Series: Going Down Swinging [51]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Loki Wins, Banter, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence - Avengers (2012), Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Fluffy Ending, Hand Jobs, King Loki (Marvel), Kissing, Loki (Marvel) Does What He Wants, Loyalty, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Public Display of Affection, Smut, Throne Sex, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, grey tony stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:07:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23342218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: Loki’s won the world, but– it’s not his throne that he holds most dear.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Series: Going Down Swinging [51]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1330490
Comments: 39
Kudos: 443





	Fit for a King

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rabentochter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabentochter/gifts).



> For Sesil, who wanted to see King Loki speaking down to Steve– and then for Tony to show up, of course xD  
>   
>  **Prompt** — _“I can’t breathe.”_

Loki’s throne was not as ornate as the one he had once perched upon in Asgard.

The Allfather’s throne was bright gold and shining, large enough to make even the broadest of warriors feel small. But, Loki’s current throne?

Well…

It wasn’t as large, and it wasn’t as bright– but to Loki? It was almost perfect.

The seat wasn’t huge, not like the Allfather’s, but it was far wider than needed to fit just Loki. It did not have a cushion, but a cushion would have been beyond superfluous– for the silver metal that it was made of had been perfectly sculpted for comfort. In fact, it had been made especially for him, crafted by hands that _wanted_ him sitting on the throne of Midgard. Loki might have preferred a different location for it, however– the blandly named ‘White House’ was small and oppressive, nothing like the open halls of a palace as he had envisioned. But he did understand the logic of making this his seat of power, as it were– and the symbolism _did_ seem to help keep the mortals in their place. But of course, that did not mean that Loki hadn’t initiated some… _changes_.

The throne held court in what had once been some kind of banquet hall, right at the head of the room. The place had once been full of tables and chairs but Loki had it cleared out, and had decorated so that it gave off the impression of grandness and intimidation.

So no, it was not as ornate as the seat Loki had occupied during his short stint as the King of Asgard, but….

It was still just as imposing, especially when Loki was sprawled over the throne, a dagger dancing above his hand in a swirl of seiðr as he watched three of his most prized captives be ushered through the door by his guards.

The guards were Einherjar soldiers, sent down by Odin to aid with the running of Midgard after Loki had conquered it. It amused him to see them– it proved that he had the Allfather’s approval, even though it had not been his mission to take this Realm.

It also amused him to picture what Thor might be doing in that moment, how he might have reacted to the news. Spitting, probably, that Loki had managed to complete the task of conquering Midgard before his brother had even begun to round up his friends.

The Midgardians should be thanking Loki, really. Had he not stepped in to do the job, then Thor would have arrived in the blaze of the Bifröst, and he and his friends would have bathed the realm in blood before claiming their victory.

But for Loki? It had been _easy_ to take control of Midgard, a rather simple matter of a quiet conversation and the correct application of leverage. All Loki had needed was the _right ally_ , and even with the Avengers fighting against him, his invasion had taken little more than a single hour.

The humans had surrendered under a technological onslaught, and the Avengers were locked in individual rooms in the White House.

Loki had won without spilling a single drop of blood.

It might not have been the warrior way, but it _was_ efficient– and it had earned him something he was far more proud of capturing than he was of the planet.

Despite that, of course, the humans thought him a monster– and that, at least, was a reputation that Loki could easily nurture. Especially with the _Avengers_ in front of him.

The Einherjar forced the Avengers down on their knees below the steps which lead to the throne, their heads bowed but their posture tense. They did not look like they were beaten– the Avengers, it seemed, had not yet given up hope.

Rogers was kneeling in the centre of the three, glaring up at Loki with a kind of defiance that would not easily be quashed. Romanoff was to his left, her expression blank but her intentions given away by the sharpness in her eyes, as coiled as a snake preparing to strike. Barton was the only one of the three who kept his gaze averted, but his hands were curled so tightly into fists that his knuckles were turning white.

They were all that was left. The Hulk had been neutralised, and taken to Asgard for study by the healers there. They had hope that they might be able to reverse the damage. Loki would have been happy to simply eliminate the creature, but. He had been presented the alternative option in a way that he couldn’t refuse. And Iron Man… well. He was no longer a problem.

There were a few beats of silence, several seconds where not a single word was said. And Loki couldn’t help the simple upturn of his lips, a smirk that made the Avengers’ gazes sharpen. At least, they were not easily cowed.

“Loki,” Rogers said, his voice harsh and rough, as if he had been using it too much. Loki wondered if perhaps he had been trying to communicate with one of the others though the walls of his gilded cell, or whether he had been shouting at his jailors. Either one was possible.

“The correct term is Your Highness,” Loki said. “However, since I understand that this is new for you, I will let your slip in courtesy go this once.”

Rogers did not seem to care for any of Loki’s words. “Where is Tony?” he asked, speaking more sharply now.

Loki felt his smirk widen– and Rogers’ expression exploded with rage.

“Where _is_ he?”

“And why should I tell you?” Loki asked, lounging back against his throne, the picture of ease. “What benefit would that bring me?”

“I know he was caught with us,” Rogers snapped, apparently unaware of the finer details of negotiation– or perhaps he was simply unwilling to negotiate with Loki. If that was the case, then it was a mistake. “I saw him during the fight, and I know you wouldn’t just leave him out there. If Tony was still fighting, then _you_ wouldn’t be here.”

Loki’s smirk widened. “And how do you know he was _caught?”_ he asked darkly, the implications clear—

Rogers’ expression paled– and Loki knew that his words had done exactly what he hoped. Although, it seemed that the Captain’s spirit was not yet broken. _Good._ It would have been far too boring, if that was all it took.

“I believe in Tony,” Rogers said– and there was not a single tremor in his voice.

“I cannot fathom why,” Loki said. “By all accounts, you cannot stand him.”

Rogers frowned. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “My opinion of him doesn’t make him any less of a fighter.”

“Whether or not we _like_ him is irrelevant.” It was Romanoff who had spoken this time, and Loki’s eyes fell on her with a spark of curiosity. “He is still stronger than most people give him credit for, and I think you know that. We all saw how you placed your portal on top of Stark Tower. You were taunting _him_ , you saw something– something that everyone else missed.”

“Well, look at that,” Loki said, tilting his head. “You _are_ an observant one.”

“If you’d killed Tony, you wouldn’t have kept it quiet,” Romanoff said firmly. “You would have used that information against us.”

“You mean, as I am now?” He smirked as Rogers flinched– but the other two remained firm, unmoving. “Perhaps I will tell you the truth,” Loki mused. “But in return, you must do something for _me.”_

“We will not help you take over our planet,” Rogers hissed. “If we cannot save the world, then you can be sure that we’ll—”

“Yes, yes,” Loki said, waving his hand. “I have to admit, Stark spoke that line with far more emotion.”

Rogers’ jaw clenched, and Romanoff stepped in once again.

“What is it that you want, Loki?”

Ah yes, there she was– the master negotiator. _She_ knew how to step around her words, seeking information without uttering a single promise of anything in return.

“It is not about what I want, but rather, about what I do _not_ ,” Loki started. “Because I do not wish for this world to fall to war and ruin while I am here to rule over it. And I will need ample support from the Midgardians in that matter– support which would be easier gained if _you_ spoke in my favour.”

Romanoff was frowning, clearly turning that over in her mind– but both Rogers and Barton looked incredibly defiant. Shame.

“I know you wished to save your world, but you _will not_ be able to do so by fighting me,” Loki said. “The only way that we are going to be able to make this world a better place is if you _join_ me.”

Rogers opened his mouth, no doubt to utter some _inspirational_ and damning words– but then anything he could have said was cut off by another, far more pleasant voice. 

“Don’t waste your breath, my King. They don’t _want_ to save the world.”

Loki took great pleasure from the pure, unadulterated shock that blossomed across the Avengers’ expressions– but even more from the feel of the hand that slid over his shoulders, and the person who came to perch upon the arm of his throne.

“Anthony,” Loki sighed, feeling a tension he hadn’t even noticed begin to fall from his shoulders with every stroke of Anthony’s hand– and the dagger still floating over his palm vanished with a flick of his wrist. “I told them that I would only let them know where you were once they had _agreed.”_

“Sorry,” Anthony said– though he hardly sounded it in the slightest. Not that Loki minded, for Anthony’s hands dug a little deeper into his shoulders, and Loki did not even bother to muffle the sigh that escaped him at the sensation. 

“Tony?” Rogers asked sharply. “What are you doing?”

Loki almost rolled his eyes, because surely the answer was going to be one that would either be obvious or something that _should_ remain covert.

Anthony thought the same, if the amusement that laced his reply gave any indication. “What does it look like, Steve? Come on, I know you grew up in the thirties and all, but– it’s not like sex was invented in the age of rock and roll. I’m sure you can work it out.”

Steve looked like he had swallowed a lemon. Meanwhile Loki noted that Romanoff was watching Anthony carefully, no doubt searching for evidence of a lie in Anthony’s words and posture. She would not find one.

Loki knew Anthony’s loyalties, he knew Anthony’s heart. And he knew that his mortal would never betray him. 

Anthony’s fingers shifted to caress the skin of Loki’s nape, and had they been alone Loki would have given in to the desire to purr– but instead, he simply leaned back into it and kept his eyes on the Avengers.

“You betrayed us?” Barton asked, speaking up for the first time.

“No,” Anthony said simply. “I do not believe that I was ever on your side in the first place. What was it again? Narcissistic, self-obsessed, doesn’t play well with others?”

Romanoff’s expression darkened. It would seem she’d found her answer.

“Well, it turns out that I know how to play just fine,” Anthony taunted. “I just needed the right partner.”

“Tony, surely you’re not going to join Loki just to spite us?” Rogers asked.

“Oh, I’m not doing this because of _you,”_ Anthony said. And although to the untrained ear his voice might seem rather flat, Loki knew him well enough to be able to hear the sharp amusement– amusement that darkened his eyes with a wicked gleam as he leaned more toward Loki, so much so that one of his feet came off the floor, his knee hooking over the arm of the throne. “Oh, no,” he whispered– and his eyes were on _Loki_ now, his lips parting, his voice low. “There’s only the one person other than myself that I would do anything for, these days.” 

Loki turned his head to the side at that, and he adored the way that Anthony’s lips pulled into a smirk—

And then Anthony leaned down and pressed that smirk to Loki’s, his hand tightening in Loki’s hair, his lips fierce and unyielding. Loki tilted up his chin to accept the kiss with an eager moan, his hands curling around Anthony’s waist. And Anthony wasted no time in shifting over the edge of the throne and into Loki’s lap, straddling him and grinding down with his hips, both of their moans curling between their lips and along their tongues as they continued to ravish each other’s mouths.

They heard a curse, a complaint, a protest – Loki didn’t know, he didn’t really care – and he didn’t bother opening his eyes to see who it was that had made the noise. And maybe Anthony had given a gesture, or maybe the Einherjar simply recognised that neither Loki nor Anthony would be surfacing any time soon– for the next sound Loki heard was that of clinking chains and dragging feet.

No matter– Loki could speak with them again later. There were far more pressing matters to attend to here—

Such as the way that Anthony was moving away, sliding off Loki’s lap so that his knees were pressing into the floor. Loki might have uttered a protest, if he had been able to find his voice– but it was stolen by a moan as Anthony ducked down to press his lips to the bulge in Loki’s pants, causing Loki’s hands to grip hard at the throne’s armrest to stop himself from bucking his hips. Loki cursed as Anthony mouthed at the leather, pressing harder with his teeth than he would dare had there been no barrier between enamel and skin– and then Loki _growled_ as Anthony pulled away.

But his mouth was quickly replaced by swift hands, as if Anthony were too eager to bother with unlacing Loki’s pants with his teeth as he had several times in the past. He didn’t pull the pants down all the way, either– just opened them enough to free Loki’s erection, pushing the leather to the side. Loki gasped as cold air hit sensitive skin, and then again as Anthony leaned forward and kissed the head, all swiftness melting away as his lips and tongue moved slow. And when he pulled away, Anthony’s already reddened lips lifted back into a smirk.

“My King,” Anthony whispered, looking up at Loki from between his spread legs– and he was a _vision_ , but…

“Anthony,” Loki said, his tone a warning.

Anthony grinned. “ _Loki.”_

 _That_ was what Loki wanted, and he thread a hand through Anthony’s hair in a silent request– a request that Anthony immediately moved to answer, taking Loki’s cock in his hand and then leaning down to lick from the base to the tip in a single, agonisingly _slow_ stroke of his tongue.

Loki threw back his head, words gone to inarticulate moans. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing but the heady sensations of Anthony’s lips and tongue working over Loki’s cock, sending waves of pleasure though Loki’s body that caused his thighs to begin to shake. Not once did Anthony pause, not once did he let up or give Loki time to breathe—

And when he pursed his lips over the head and slid all the way down, one hand stoking over Loki’s balls as he hollowed his cheeks and then _swallowed—_

Loki was gone, coming down Anthony’s throat with a cry, his clenched muscles shaking hard as his breath turned to nothing but gasps. He was gripping Anthony tightly, and Anthony did not let up– he swallowed around Loki’s cock until it was soft, and only _then_ did he pull away with a grin on his abused lips.

Loki felt spent, his limbs loose and light– but he pulled Anthony closer anyway. Anthony slid into the space on Loki’s left, his legs hooking over Loki’s as he curled into his side. They fit perfectly together on the throne, more comfortably than almost anywhere else.

The new throne of Midgard, after all, had been designed _for_ _them_ – and Anthony was, of course, one of the best metalworkers in the Nine.

Loki leaned down to kiss his lover, his _partner–_ and Anthony moaned into it, his own hardness more than evident as he pressed even closer. Loki smiled against his lips as he slid a hand down between them, intending to return the favour—

But, first.

“Are you certain that _this_ is what you want?” Loki asked– already knowing the answer, of course, but… just wishing to hear Anthony say it once again.

“Of course it is,” Anthony replied, without missing a single beat. “I love you. Without you, I can’t breathe– but _together_ , we rule the world.”

Loki’s grin widened and then he kissed Anthony again, making quick work of the fly on Anthony’s slacks and then his underwear so that he could take Anthony’s cock in his hand. His seiðr gave him the lubricant he needed, and then he timed his firm strokes to the symphony of Anthony’s moans.

He swallowed the sounds with another messily passionate kiss, tasting the remaining traces of himself on Anthony’s lips and moaning at not just the taste, but the knowledge that Anthony was _his_ – and this was the rest of their lives.

For Anthony might have won Loki the world, but. What he held most precious was right there in his arms, and Loki would gladly give up any throne if it meant that he could hold on to Anthony forever.


End file.
